That’s how I feel right now. Alliterative.
Also spooky. Murky. Mysterious. Ambiguous and illusory. Sliding between forms, partaking of all and none. The mirror image of a shadow of a ghost.
I have plenty of good topics in my notes but I am not in a “topics” mood. So none of them appeal to me. None of them seem “right”.
Guess I’m on my own, then.
Crisis? What Crisis?
Take your bloody pick.
How about the fact that I am old and dying of preventable causes which are (in theory) entirely under my control but which in reality I can only silently watch destroy me in increasingly horrifyingly gruesome ways and passively wonder what it will finally take and bad does it really need to get before I will actually be sufficiently motivated to save my own fucking life.
But that’s the sane part of me talking.
The crazy part says. “as long as I keep neglecting myself, I’m getting closer to the sweet release of DEATH, when we will finally ESCAPE everything and it will all be OVER at last. “
And I am never going to escape these deadly doldrums until I make that crazy part of me go away somehow.
If only I was immortal.
That’d really show it.
I can’t even tell myself “I want to live!” with conviction.
To be honest, I’m still on the fence on the question.
The best I can say is that I don’t want to die. Which implies a desire to live by default.
But I can’t say I view the prospect with any enthusiasm. In fact, the less I try to looking into my future, the better, because the more I look the worse it seems.
So I jut keep my eyes fixed on the screen in front of me and do my best to stay in the permanent illusory present, ignoring everything outside my tiny vehicle as it drifts inexorably towards the annihilating vortex of rage and pain and strong energies left to run wild that will one day destroy me utterly.
I suppose I’d rather be in control of my life. Given the alternative.
But honestly what I really want is money. Money enough to not have to worry about money. Money enough to feel secure and free and not boxed in my life. Money enough to feel like I can do what I want to do with my time.
Money enough to build the bedroom video studio of my dreams.
Actually, I could probably get a start on that now. I mean, I already have a fairly good webcam and a high quality mic if needed.
I should just get my ass a greenscreen and get started. Turn myself into a YouTube star known for my unique point of view and wacky, colorful, outrageous personality!
And, let’s be honest, my fresh and controversial opinions.
There’s no way I could be some kind of mainstream friendly, eminently marketable, born to push Audible subs and $5 shaving kits kooky Internet funster.
I might play the harmless clown a while, but sooner or later, my need to throw verbal hand grenades and fuck shit up and shake people out of their slumber so they can wake up and truly SEE will overtake me.
Because I am a trickster god, and my job is to destroy, disrupt, and disperse all the old illusions and lazy intellectual shortcuts and false morality and other spiritual kudzu so that the mind of man can be clear and the soul of the sisterhood pure and we can all walk together into a clear blue dawn and know true freedom at last.
Plus I wanna get laid.
Money helps with that too.
More after the break.
Time for “the talk”
Now son…. when a man and a woman…um, or a man and a man… or a woman and a woman…. or um…. a Catholic priest and a choirboy….. or a lonely farmhand and a very affectionate and understanding goat… um… where was I going with this…
*consults notes* Oh right…. when…. um those people and/or livestock… love each other very much…. or at least figure they’re the best each other can expect to get on an off nigh… um, or they’re both horny and there’ nothing good on TV…
Now picture all that delivered by Red Green.
Just replace “son” with “Harold!”.
This is that time when I discuss my sexuality or at least acknowledge that I have one and should probably be doing something with it.
Like, expressing it somehow. Possibly with others.
That’s where it always breaks down, though. Others. Solo sexuality can be fantastic, but it only goes so far.
Sooner or later, you’re going to want/need the kind of sex that involves other people.
And for me that is….. impossible.
Or at least that’s how it feels.
I can barely handle talking with strangers, let alone contemplating getting naked and frisky with one.
The gulf between me and the rest of humanity is too wide to be bridged by anyone’s genitals. The very thought of trying to reach out to another human for sex or cuddles or even light conversation gives me a case of the Raging Heebie Jeebies (Live tonight at the Corn Palace).
It would take something quite powerful to be my bridge into that world. Some powerful talisman or ward that I can clutch in my sweaty palm that will make me feel safe enough to go out into that big bad world and make myself vulnerable.
I don’t handle rejection well. Especially the personal kind.
It’s not something I could do on my own. I’d need help. Someone to hold my hand and comfort me and guide me through that babbling madscape known as “the real world”.
The sort of thing a father is supposed to do, come to think of it.
No wonder I am such a coward. My father didn’t protect me from jack hit, and instead of making me feel safe he was one of the main things I was scared of.
But that’s a topic for another time.
Mental note : time to talk about Larry some more.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.